Marvelous Things
by inbetweenbreaths
Summary: Reznikov's Traveling Carnival comes to town. Piper Chapman becomes enchanted with the show's enigmatic magician, Alex Vause.
1. The Illusionist

**A/N:** traveling circus runaways AU! 1900s-ish setting. Not sure how long it will be, but probably around three chapters.

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The carnival arrived with the last gasp of summer, on the very day the leaves began to fall.

It was big news for a small county such as this one. There had been no prior announcement of it, no advertisement in the local paper to promote its appearance, but by noon there were posters in every storefront on Main Street. The traveling show was rapidly became the talk of the town, and not even the Chapman dinner table was immune to the rumors.

"I don't understand how anyone could be _entertained_ by a freak show," Piper's mother said into her wine glass, with a disbelieving little laugh. "As if bearded ladies and stunted little men are anything to laugh over!"

But later that night when she was alone in her room, Piper pulled the handbill out of her pocket and pressed the creases smooth.

 _'Reznikov's Traveling Carnival,'_ it read. ' _Incredible feats of skill and daring! Wonders, thrills, and amusements galore!'_

Piper had thought little enough about it when she'd stooped to lift the paper off the sidewalk earlier, yet now it seemed to beckon to her. Her parents' obvious disapproval only seemed to spur her on, and before she could think the idea through she was already slipping out the back door into the garden.

There was dew on the grass and a slight chill in the air that suggested a change of season. Piper hadn't thought to bring a lantern, but she knew her route well. When she reached the edge of town she had no difficulty finding the footpath that would guide her through the cornfields.

It was the sort of night that she remembered later as a collage of imagery and sensation: the lone oak tree standing in a rocky field; the velveteen caress of wind, both soft and rugged enough to make her arms break out goosebumps; the ineffable fragrance of autumn that began, in the span of a single evening, to overwhelm the dissipating perfume of summer.

It was the sort of night that seemed to invite possibility, to invoked the promise something wonderful.

When Piper arrived at the fairgrounds the first thing she noticed was the way the carnival defied convention. It shunned the usual gaudy reds and yellows in favor of an understated, colorless elegance: the tents were pitch black and splashed with silver paint reminiscent of starlight, so that the canvas appeared to be sewn from the fabric of night itself. The fairgrounds smelled of burnt sugar and woodsmoke. There was a bonfire just inside the courtyard, and beyond it a trio of faintly lit paths diverged into the cluster of tents.

The person working the ticket booth was a slight, dark-haired girl. She was made up not with the usual carnival grease paint, but with cosmetics, like a lady _._

"One, please," Piper told her. Then, with a dubious glance at the narrow promenades that wound quickly out of sight, she added, "And maybe a map."

The attendant fixed her with a patient smile. "No maps, hon. The carnival is always laid out differently." Her city accent was quite pronounced; she kept dropping her consonants. "It isn't suppose' to be navigated. It's suppose' to be _explored_."

Piper cast another glance at the cluster of tents. They seemed to have no outlines, their canvas shapes merely giving way to darker shadows pooling between them. Even the intersecting paths seemed intimidated by their looming aspect—the lamps flickered feebly, their gaslight coronas swallowed up in the gloom. For Piper, there was something both forbidding and deliciously exciting about the idea of losing herself within such labyrinth—of leaving behind, at least for a few hours, the routine rigidity that entrapped her.

"Thank you," she murmured to the attendant, sliding her ticket across the smooth wooden counter and pocketing it carefully.

She skirted around the bonfire in its iron-barred pit and, lured by the scent of cardamom and cloves, made for the pathway to the far left of the courtyard. With her last few pennies she bought a cup of mulled cider. She sipped it slowly as she walked, each footstep carrying her deeper into the maze of entertainments.

Here, again, the carnival managed to defy convention. There were no signs advertising the usual spectacles, no strongmen lifting anvils or daredevils swallowing swords. There were only the dark tents, each one bearing a hand painted sign over its entrance. 'The Museum of Faraway Artifacts,' said one. And just beyond it, 'The Hall of Mirrors.' Piper hesitated on the threshold, but decided to keep walking. It was as though something inside of her was guiding her feet, though she had no particular destination.

The crowed was thin here, but as the path looped around and began to swing back toward the heart of the carnival several children burst out of the tent Piper was passing. They were chattering amongst themselves, gesticulating wildly. Intrigued by their excitement, Piper glanced up to read the sign. It was a simple one, a red rose and a top hat painted onto a white background, and beneath them the words in black read simply 'The Illusionist.'

"Have you seen the show yet?" a voice asked beside her. The woman it belonged to seemed to be the children's' chaperone. Piper shook her head. "Oh, you must!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining in the lamplight. "The illusionist is marvelous."

"Is he very famous?"

"Oh, I daresay not. But she's very talented. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was real magic!"

 _She,_ the woman said—that was unusual. The magicians Piper had heard of were all men, and if women played a part in their shows it was only as the assistants whom the tricks were enacted upon. But come to the think of, Piper had yet to see a man featured in any of the entertainments. Even the people working the booths were women. It was passing strange.

Piper glanced at the sign again, and felt inside her chest a sort of tugging sensation, as if this were the very tent she'd been waiting to find. The mouth of it yawned open invitingly, and Piper ducked inside.

The show began in absolute darkness. Piper sat in the very front row, peering through gloom to try and catch a glimpse of movement. There was a sound like someone striking a match, and then a flicker of light that expanded rapidly into a steady flame. As the flame grew brighter it became apparent that it was cupped in the palm of a pale and slender hand. There was no torch or candle of any kind—only the fire itself, glowing brightly in a cradle of bare fingers.

With a sudden flash the flame exploded in a shower of violet sparks. Piper gasped and applauded as the illusionist closed her fist to snuff out the fire. The audience clapped its approval, and Piper could hear a scattering of excited whispers behind her. But when the lights came up to begin the show in earnest, the illusionist's appearance shocked her quite as much as the opening trick.

She wore a maroon tailcoat of crushed velvet, with a lace cravat at the throat and a single white rose pinned to her lapel. Her dark hair was swept back and pinned beneath the brim of her black top hat. Despite the masculine costume the illusionist's bearing held a grace and poise that was not the least bit boyish. She gazed at the audience from beneath heavy lashes, her green-grey eyes lined dark with kohl.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she greeted. Her voice resonated with a low and heavy timbre. "Everything you are about to witness happens exactly as you see it. There will be no smoke, no mirrors, no trickery."

She laid a delicate emphasis upon the last word, looking out at the audience with one brow raised as if daring them to disbelieve her.

"The currency we deal in tonight is _magic,_ pure and simple."

She withdrew a pair of gloves from her pocket as she spoke, still staring idly at the crowd. Her gaze slid sideways until it met Piper's, and then seemed to linger; she began to pull the gloves on, sliding the white silk up the pale skin of her wrists. The gesture seemed intimate, almost seductive, and for a moment Piper quite forgot that she was only one among the crowd. Then she remembered, and a flush crept up her neck. It was stiflingly warm inside the tent—or so it seemed to Piper as she felt the color rise in her cheeks.

"What you are about to see will require your very careful attention," the illusionist said evenly, and Piper, for one, was all too willing to give it to her.

Over the next half hour the illusionist put on a show that seemed to delight everyone in the audience. She made doves disappear from their cages, one after another, only to uncover them from behind curtains and beneath tablecloths and even inside of one startled patron's hat. She invited audience members to withdraw cards from a deck, and correctly guessed which ones they'd selected. What mattered most was not the tricks themselves, but the convincing way she managed them. She performed every sleight of hand and misdirection with a grace that left Piper breathless.

Had she watched the tricks a little more closely Piper might have spied the false bottoms on the bird cages or realized that actors had been planted in the audience—but she didn't. She was too focused on the illusionist's movements, on her confident manner and the intensity of her expression. Truthfully, Piper preferred the naive belief that the magic was real. She didn't want something so beautiful to be cheapened by the notion that it was mere illusion.

At the end of the show the magician clicked her fingers together and produced a red rose between them. There was a round of charmed applause as she held it aloft. She looked out at the crowd as if she were searching the audience for someone specific. Then, with a sprightly leap, she hopped off the stage and walked the narrow aisle until she was directly in front of Piper.

Up close the illusionist's gaze was even more arresting. She tipped her hat politely with one gloved hand, and with the other she held the flower out toward Piper.

For a moment Piper entertained the notion that the entire show, every trick and manipulation, had been done to impress her—her, and nobody else. The thought was nonsense, of course. The illusionist probably did half a dozen shows a night. Still, there was something in the intent way the woman was staring that made Piper feel singled out; special.

The illusionist's mouth twisted up at the corner. She gazed at Piper with an expression akin to smugness, as if she knew the content of her thoughts.

"Thank you," Piper murmured, accepting the rose and holding it delicately by the stem.

When the show was over Piper was loathe to leave the tent. She wanted to sit there awhile, basking in the afterglow of the illusions and the way they made her feel. The crowd filed out until Piper was the last left inside, sitting with her eyes closed, holding the rose beneath her chin to breathe in the delicate fragrance of it. She wanted to stay longer, if not here then simply elsewhere in the carnival. It smelled so tantalizingly of autumn, of memory and change and adventure, and she wanted to lose herself within its elegant maze.

But if she stayed out all night her parents were sure to notice, and they'd be furious with her going out so late without a chaperone. The thought struck her hard and fast, and the very air around her seemed to lose its enchantment. She stood and laid the flower down upon her vacated seat, where it looked at once quite forlorn and ordinarily. Piper felt she must appear the same, dressed as she was in her drab, sensible clothing, so representative of the mundanity to which she must shortly return.

With a sigh she forced herself to leave the tent, to return the lamplit pathway outside and begin finding her way back to the carnival gate.

She hadn't gotten far, however, before she became aware of a pair of footsteps mimicking her own, keeping step just half a pace behind her. She paused and turned about to face whoever was following her.

It was the illusionist. She was still dressed in her performance costume, the white lace at her throat contrasting sharply with the dark shade of the tent under which they stood. Her eyes were, if anything, more luminous, more _mesmerizing_ than they had been earlier. Piper felt the breath leave her lungs and waited in mute surprise for it to return.

"You enjoyed my act," the illusionist told her—not a question, but a casually offered statement.

Piper nodded. She couldn't think of what to say. There didn't seem to be any sufficient words of praise she could offer.

"You're not going to ask me to reveal my secrets, are you?"

"No," Piper said shyly. She could have elaborated, could have told the woman that she preferred to believe in the fantasy of true magic rather than the reality of manipulation, but she didn't. She only smiled a little in the lamplight.

The illusionist's laughter was a warm, low chuckle. "A true believer! I like that in a woman. Have you seen much of the carnival?"

"I'm afraid I haven't the time," Piper replied, her cheeks tingling warmly.

"Nonsense."

"No, truly," she persisted, with a shake of her head. "I'm not supposed to be out tonight as it is. I have to get home."

"Nanny waiting up for you?"

"Something like that," she murmured. It did seem rather pathetic, spoken aloud like that. What a dull person she must appear, especially in the eyes of someone so extraordinary.

But if the illusionist thought her silly, she certainly didn't show it. "I have one last trick for you," she said.

She held out both of her hands, displaying her empty palms to Piper. Then she passed one smoothly over the other, revealing as she did so a small black card, effortlessly conjured. She handed it to Piper.

 _'Special guest admittance,'_ it read in silver ink. In very small print on the bottom corner were the letters _A.V._

"A.V.?"

"My initials. The Illusionist is just a show title. My real name is Alex. Alex Vause."

The name sounded strangely clipped. Piper didn't know any other women named Alex _;_ but then again, she didn't think she knew any women quite _like_ Alex either.

"Piper Chapman," she offered in kind.

"Hmm. Piper Chapman." Alex said the name slowly, with a sly sort of smile. "Come back tomorrow if you'd like to see more of the carnival. I know quite a few of its lesser-known attractions. I could show them to you, if you'd like."

Piper found herself blushing again. It wasn't every day that she received such propositions from strangers, particularly strangers as mysterious and fascinating as this one.

A strand of dark hair had come loose from Alex's plait. She brushed it away carelessly, her white-gloved fingertips tucking it back behind her ear. She was looking at Piper expectantly, one thin, dark eyebrow raised in question.

"I'll try," Piper told her.

Alex grinned again. "If you do, you'll know where to find me."

She gave a parting wave and then, as if to prove that her familiarity with the carnival was not an idle boast, she stepped off of the path and wandering purposefully into the darkness. Piper watched the tails of her velvet waistcoat dissolve into shadow until she was out of sight. Then her lungs seemed to expand at last, letting out the breath she'd been holding.

The moon was shining down through a gap in the black canvas. Beyond the painted silver stars the real ones glittered faintly. The summer constellations had shifted, giving way to a less familiar sky, and moments later Piper was walking beneath it through an open field. The entire night felt like something out a dream, and Piper's feet fairly floated with the thrill of it.

But as she grew nearer to home the dream became more distant. When she slipped at last through the back door of the house it was as though she had woken entirely, and the entire night was like a fantasy half-remembered.

The house was quiet; mercifully, it seemed her parents had never woken to find her missing. She tiptoed up to her bedroom, casting off her dress and changing quickly into her night clothes.

But then Piper remembered the card the illusionist had given her, and fished it out of her pocket. She tucked it into an old hat box and slid it underneath her bed for safekeeping, like a delicate secret. With a pang of regret she thought of the rose she'd left behind, imagined it withering there on the bench beneath the tent.

Oh, how she wanted to go back for it now! How she wanted to wake up in the morning and be somewhere else, where magic was real and the world she lived in was a bad dream easily forgotten.


	2. Chapter 2

Piper watched the illusionist's show again the next night. Alex's eyes found her partway through the first act, and the glance they shared in that moment was warm and familiar, the kind that seems to convey a smile without any change of expression. Alex went on with the show and Piper tried to concentrate, but she found that the magic held less interest for her than did the illusionist herself. Her thoughts were filled with Alex, with her voice and her stage presence and the way their eyes kept meeting. She enjoyed the slyness of those glances, the secrecy, the sense of sharing something private between them that no one else could understand.

The illusionist retreated backstage immediately after taking her bow and Piper waited while the rest of the audience filed out, leaving her alone inside the tent. She couldn't remember the last time her heart had beat so fast or so loudly. A few moments passed before Alex reappeared, slipping through the gap in the curtains.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Piper replied, a little breathlessly.

"Was the show as good the second time?"

"Better."

Alex laughed. "Liar."

Her jacket was unbuttoned and her top hat was missing, presumably discarded backstage. She began removing her gloves as she spoke, pulling them delicately off the ends of her fingers. It was almost like one of her magic tricks, only instead of doves or roses she was revealing simply her own hands, bare beneath the silk.

The gesture made Piper feel shy again. She bit her lip, watching as Alex tucked the gloves into her trouser pocket and then sat down on the edge of the stage.

"Alex." It was the first time she'd said the name aloud. "Why did you come after me last night?"

The words spilled out of her mouth with a self-conscious slowness. Piper knew it was an awkward question. She'd been thinking it over all day, unable to come up with an answer.

"Well," Alex drawled, "it seemed impolite to give a girl a flower and not introduce myself. Even though you didn't even take the flower with you, which, in some circles would definitely be considered bad manners."

"Whereas _you_ are the very picture of propriety."

Alex laughed. She was sitting with her legs spread and her feet dangling; hardly the posture of someone overly concerned with etiquette. She looked perfectly at ease though, unlike Piper, whose heart was still racing like it might never slow down.

"My turn to ask a question." Alex leaned forward, bracing her hands upon the tops of her knees. "Why did _you_ come back tonight?"

Piper hesitated. She wasn't sure exactly what it was about the carnival— about Alex in particular—that made her so relentlessly curious, so she stuck with the safest answer.

"You promised me a tour," she said.

"Hmm. I guess did." Alex grinned, and somehow the sight of that smile alone had been worth coming back for. "I've got some time before my next show. Shall we?"

They went out through the back of the tent, into the night and the throngs of guests walking the pathways. Alex knew a shortcut to everything, ushering Piper past barricades and through hidden entrances. She insisted on bypassing the most crowded and popular tents, the common circus acts with clowns and animal trainers, favoring instead the entertainments that were either more delicate or more unusual.

They visited a tent that housed towering sculptures made of entirely of sugar. Whorls and twists spun out in an array of translucent colors; panels as clear and thin as glass panes. One of the sculptures was an entire miniature garden, rendered in exquisite detail right down to the blades of grass.

"This is amazing." Piper's voice was an awed whisper. She bent forward, inspecting a handful of delicate sugar flowers. "Who makes these?"

"Red. You probably know her as Reznikov."

"The proprietor?"

"This is her tent. The exhibit changes every few weeks, whenever she has time to design something new. The theme is always culinary, though. She used to be a chef."

Piper's fingers hovered above the sculpted petals of a daisy, wanting to touch but not daring to, afraid of damaging the display. It was hard to believe that such delicate, intricate beauty could be creating by hand. It was magic somehow, too.

The next act was almost monstrous by comparison. It involved an electric chair, the sort they used on death row to execute the condemned. It was wired to a complicated looking apparatus with numerous dials and hand switches. As they watched, a woman with wild-looking hair stepped up onto the platform, sat down in the chair, and allowed an assistant to shackle her in place.

Piper watched the preparations with a feeling of mingled fascination and distaste. "My god," she whispered, "they're not going to… _are_ they?"

"Didn't you read the sign? That's Nicky Nichols! Got struck by lightening twice in one day, and lived to tell the tale."

"Seriously?"

"Of course. That's why her hair is so big."

"Alex!"

They watched as the assistant threw the largest of the console's switches. The girl in the chair began to jerk about in short, sharp motions, her limbs tugging at their restraints. Her mouth fell open and her eyes began to roll backwards.

Piper turned away, covering her face with her hands.

"I can't look," she mumbled.

"It's okay." She felt Alex's fingertips ghost across her shoulder. "That thing is barely a jolt. She's fine. Look."

Peering through her fingers, Piper looked up at the stage. The assistant was now unstrapping the electrified girl, who rose unsteadily from the chair. She looked pale and weak, as if she might keel over at any moment. Suddenly her expression changed—she flashed the audience a gleaming grin, springing forward and sweeping into a bow. There was a gasp of surprise before thunderous applause broke out, accompanied by a fair amount of hooting and hollering.

"See? Told you, it's just an act."

"I can't believe someone would do that voluntarily," Piper said, grimacing.

"Nicky calls it free shock therapy. If anyone needs it, it's her."

They left the tent, wandering back in the direction of the courtyard. Alex left Piper standing alone for a moment and returned with two cups of mulled wine, though Piper didn't see any vendors offering it. When she mentioned this to Alex she received a wink in reply. "Perks of the job," Alex told her.

As the night progressed Piper realized that Alex had dimensions far beyond her on-stage persona. During her shows the illusionist remained perfectly poised—everything was planned, from the choreography of her tricks to the way she looked out at the audience. Her expression remained impassive and carefully composed. Her onstage demeanor made her seem intimidating and unreachable, and the mystery of her persona was part of the act's appeal.

But the moment she stepped offstage Alex became different. She seemed both more at ease and more animated, her stoicism giving way to liveliness, laughter, and a quick wit. Her gait as she led Piper around the carnival was both casual and purposeful, and she exuded a confidence that Piper couldn't help but feel envious of.

Somewhere just off the beaten path they came across a contortionist. She was standing atop a pedestal, dressed all in white and dusted with glitter, statuesque and glamorous. While Piper and Alex stood watching the contortionist grabbed one ankle with both hands and arched into a backbend; spine curved, head thrown back, eyes closed. She began to rotate slowly, to spin herself by degrees, all her balance centered upon the ball of her planted foot. She looked like a music box ballerina, elegant and glittering.

Piper took a few steps closer, transfixed, and saw that the woman was older than she'd looked at a distance. While the muscles of her arms and legs were still supple as a dancer's, her skin was beginning to wrinkle and sag. The woman's age lent a kind of dignity to her performance. Her poses had a grounded, lived-in quality that came from experience rather than youthful experimentation.

But the most striking thing of all was the contortionist's expression—she had pale, watery eyes, the color of water trickling over stone, which were staring at a point somewhere in the distance. The lines of her face seemed, at least to Piper, to contain a deep and wordless sorrow. There was something about the contrast of the glittering costume and the mournful stare that made Piper want to cry.

"That's Jones," Alex told her. "Amazing, isn't she?"

"But she seems so sad."

The contortionist stopped rotating and shifted her weight, twisting her limbs slowly into a new pose. Her eyes remained sad and vacant, fixed on that unseeable something in the distance.

"Of course she's sad. Misfits and runaways don't join traveling shows because they're _happy_."

Piper's gaze flicked toward the ground in embarrassment. "I guess I never thought about it."

"Carnivals are all fun and games for townies. But this kind of life… constantly on the road, a new town or city every week… some people aren't build for that. It can be hard to let go of the things you left behind."

They fell silent for a moment, watching Jones move into another pose.

"Was it hard for you, when you left?"

As soon as the question left Piper's lips a change came over Alex; the look in her eyes became suddenly guarded, and her features rearranged themselves into a carefully neutral expression. It was as if some internal defense mechanism had been triggered, shutting Piper out.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "It's personal. I shouldn't have asked."

It was just that in the few hours they'd known each other Piper already felt more comfortable around Alex than almost anyone else she knew, and she wanted to know everything about her.

Alex gave her a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Don't worry about it," she said, in what sounded like an attempt to act casual. "I'll tell you sometime, just… not yet."

And Piper didn't mind, because _sometime_ seemed to imply that they'd see each other again, which was more than enough to be content with.

They ended up back at Alex's performance tent. This time they went in through the rear entrance so that Piper could see the backstage area. She recognized a number of the props from Alex's show: birdcages and bedsheets, a wardrobe on wheels, special tables with cut-out holes in the center. There were other things she didn't recognize, like an elaborate rig of lights and a number of dusty mirrors with ornate baroque frames.

"You realize that you're bound to secrecy, right?" Alex told her, ushering her through the cramped storage space. "This is classified stuff. If my secrets get out I'll lose my professional advantage."

"Don't worry," Piper reassured her. "All I see is a bunch of discarded junk."

"Oh good, so the illusion is working."

They walked onto the stage, right up the edge. From their vantage point the dozen rows of audience benches seemed a more intimidating number, and Piper tried to imagine what it would be like to see them full; all those faces looking up at her.

"It seems daunting," she said. "Isn't it? Standing up here every night with so many people watching?"

Alex laughed. "Not really. Being on stage—there's nothing like it. The tent goes dark and there's this rush of adrenaline, like you're about to step over the edge of a cliff, only instead of falling you just… float." Her face looked slightly flushed as she said, like she was being transported into the memory of that moment. "Performing is the only thing that makes me feel like I'm in control."

Looking out that the empty rows of seats, Piper tried to imagine what that would feel like. But she couldn't conjure up that sense of power; couldn't imagine feeling anything at all other than intimidation.

"I wish I could stay and see the show again."

"You've seen it twice already!"

"I know, but I like watching you." She felt embarrassed the moment she'd said it, like she'd let slip a secret. But it only made Alex smile.

"Alright. One more trick, just for you."

Alex pulled up the sleeves of her coat and produced a coin from her pocket. With a practiced, almost casual motion, she passed it from her right hand to the left. When she opened her palm the coin was gone. She spread her fingers wide, turning her hand over to show that she wasn't hiding the vanished object. There were no folds of cloth to conceal the coin, no place where it could possibly be hiding.

Piper tried to keep the surprise from showing on her face, but her eyes widened involuntarily. "Where is it?"

"Here." Alex held up her right hand again, and there was the coin—exactly where it had started. The pass had been a feint, a misdirection.

"I was watching so closely! I could have sworn it left your hand."

Alex pocketed the coin with a satisfied grin. "Ahh, the power of suggestion."

"You _enjoy_ fooling people," Piper told her, a gentle and smiling accusation.

"Maybe. But some people like to be fooled."

Piper blushed, because she know Alex meant her. She couldn't deny it: she liked the magic. She felt greedy for it, like it was something to hoard. And Alex had done a trick that was _just for her,_ and the knowledge of it swelled up like a song inside her, a faint and beautiful orchestra that accompanied her all the way home.

.

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.

The next day was the occasion of Carol Chapman's charity club meeting, which Piper was obliged to attend.

"I don't see why you need me there," she complained over breakfast.

"Because I'm trying to teach you how to be a proper hostess, Piper. I can't very well do that if you won't be present at parties in your own home."

Piper glanced plaintively at her father, an appeal for aid. It was the sort of look that worked when she was younger. Back then he would have smiled at her conspiratorially, a more indulgent father, but when he looked up from the morning post his expression was tired and wary.

"For god's sake Piper, don't turn this into an argument."

The charity club was its own kind of circus. The ladies' bustled skirts and wide-brimmed hats were piled so absurdly with ribbons and feathers and gauzy plumes of tulle that they began to resemble the uniforms of carny clowns, only in shades of pastel rather than primary colors. The laughter that accompanied each titter of gossip was even more manic than that of an audience beneath a big top. The women gave a round of applause after each proposed fundraising idea, as if to congratulate themselves for making such a convincing show of sincerity.

Piper had never seen the falseness of it before so plainly; it was as though attending the magic show had unveiled all kinds of smoke and mirrors, laying bare the ordinary illusions upon which her world was built. The meeting was a piece of dramatic absurdity, a well-practiced performance that everyone played a part in. Piper held her teacup gracefully, sipped daintily, sat with her most dignified posture. She didn't speak unless spoken to, maintaining a bland and placid smile. It was like a rehearsal for the mother's idea of womanhood, and she was just another actress practicing her lines, playing the role that was laid out for her.

Alex said performance made her feel like she was in control, but _this_ made Piper feel so beholden to others it was as if she were someone else entirely; a dummy in a ventriloquist act, mouthing words that weren't hers.

All at once she felt quite sick of it. She didn't want to be the sort of performer her mother wanted her to be. She wanted to be like the women at the carnival, doing something new and daring. She wanted to be like Alex.

It was time, Piper decided, to _improvise_.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thanks so much for the reviews on the first chapter! Sorry about the long wait. This is only about half of the chapter I intended to write, but it's been a while since I posted and I wanted to get something up before I disappear (aka go on vacation) for a week. As a result it's short and mostly filler, but I promise more exciting things are coming.


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